rural church, part II

The church is in front of the grove of trees on the right. Like I said, rural.

Day 1 we drove back to town from the first village outreach. That was nice, sleeping in civilization, with a shower.

Day 2 we drove back up into the mountains to the rural church, another 45 minutes or so on down the gravel road from the first village. This stretch of road makes me nervous. Tony said he's never heard me pray so much as when we're on this road; I'm usually mumbling prayers under my breath that we don't slide off the cliff, and doing some major side-seat driving. It's not as bad as other parts of the Andes, the drop-off with no guard rail is only about fifty to one hundred feet. But still enough to usher you through Gates of Splendor before your time if you were to slide off of it. Which, incidentally, we almost did on the way out the next day.

The bummer about Day 2 and 3 was all the rain. Our visits to the isolated local families in the region were cancelled because of the cold and whipping rain and wind. We were disappointed because we were looking forward to driving to the end of the road and getting out and walking/hiking the rest of the way to the houses. We were also disappointed to not be able to visit the unreached in the area and to get to know them. They are very hospitable and invite you in for tea and homemade bread and often times a meal. An hour visit can last all afternoon.

Plan B was to hold a service/outreach at the church. So we did. Even in the rain there was a decent turn out, considering most people walked to the church in the rain and mist.

The Gladys Aylward story was the movie of the weekend... mountains, rural, children, lonely but God still works kind of movie

{Later...}

My internet is still not co-operating. Ugh and Sigh. I'll try to post more pictures when it decides to cooperate. If ever. I miss you hig-speed internet... I miss you.

older boys' home pics

Tony helping the boys write their memory verses...

Some of the other boys helping, too...

They were really into it... (some of the boys can barely read and write so need a lot of help).

See our projector on the table?


Tony projects movies on the green wall in the background while Facundo works crowd control. I can't remember which one he showed this day, but this week he showed them Fireproof (dubbed over in Spanish). They LOVED it and cheered and clapped at the end asking, "Can you bring more movies like that?".

mountain movie magic

At a recent outreach, we showed some movies.


It was a village of about 100 families; Day 1 of our return trip to Chos Malal.

At these events (well, most events we show movies at), the two and a half hour JESUS film is often times too long. The kids usually don't make it past a half an hour - any more and they will begin to wander off. The Torchlighters series work well in these situations, especially since we have many other activities going on and a program to follow. The movies are evangelistic, animated, and only 30 minutes in duration - very kid friendly. A nice fit after the kids (and watching adults) have sung, played, heard the Good News, and had a snack.


the garage, lent to us from a family in the village, converted into a makeshift movie theatre



setting up the projector





aren't they adorable?!?





notice our make shift projector stand: a rusty barrel, an old rack, and some planks 



Fun stuff. Hard work. Worth it.

mime gospel part II

The nine-second test video never uploaded here for me. Welcome to my life. So... sorry. No amazing five-minute mime gospel video. You'll just have to believe me, it and they were amazing.

A couple of these kids accepted Christ. :)

The first day's event of our three days in the mountains was well-received. Now the native missionaries can go back in and continue working with the people. We are very pleased with how it went!

"Let all the nations be gather together, and let the people be assembled... let them hear, and say, It is truth." - Isaiah 43:9

mime gospel part I

I've had a bit of a rough week. The busyness and emotional strain of it has kept me from posting pictures of our truly amazing trip to the mountains.

Here are some starters: Jonathan and Keren, university students from church, and their amazing mime act of the gospel. The kids (and adults) ALWAYS love it.

Now, to see if I can upload the video of it...so amazing. Here's hoping it works.

:)

the not Mother's Day post

{written Mother's Day... finally finishing up and adding pics four days later...}

I am sitting in bed blogging on my laptop. What a treat - Wifi!

My boy found a random open Wifi signal here in the 'hood. It beats sitting hunched over at the regular computer. We don't have Wifi here at our house, I don't know why. Life is just more complicated here. So much so that you just shrug when they finally come to install your internet after six weeks only to discover that Wifi isn't part of the package, so you learn to live without: one of the many first world luxuries we live without. But it is a luxury, and no one has ever been known to die without Wifi. I mean, really.

We are going on eight months here in Argentina. Soon it will be a year. It feels like a lifetime. I remember my old life in the States as a vague recollection of hazy mental snapshots accompanied with feelings of warm fuzzies. I do remember that it was clean and neat and organized, predictable and boring and I had a lot of control over it. That I remember.

It is the EXACT OPPOSITE here.

Normal now is so vastly different than what it used to be.

Now normal is no TV (well, we have a TV, just no reception), no landline, no dishwasher, no (working) microwave, no dryer (whine), dogs that bark incessantly ev.er.y.where, bars on our windows to keep out the bad people, a water filter on our tap to keep out the bad critters, only one car, and little money.

Normal is seeing babies (or entire families) on motorcycles.


Today we went to visit a rural church plant south of here, out in the middle of the desert. Today was Mother's Day in the US. I only knew that because of Facebook. {Thank you, Facebook. Whatever would I do without you? Oh yeah, probably have a cleaner bathroom and all the clothes would be folded so, no loss there.}

This is not a Mother's Day post, because I have nothing deep or though-provoking to say about today. Every day is Mother's Day to me. And Christmas, and birthdays... we should celebrate every day. But I read quite a few Mother's Day posts; this was my favorite, I guess because I agree with her sentiments pretty much exactly.

I spent my Mother's Day getting dirty. It was a day like any other here.

When we arrived in time for lunch at the rural church (meat on the grill), my daughter took one look and said to me [fortunately in English], "Ew. I am not eating that meat. Do you see all the flies on it?".

I did.

I have never seen so many flies in all my life (this is not an exaggeration). Fortunately, there were only a few on the meat. The other thousands were swarming nearby.

We ended up eating it, of course. It was fantastic and delicious. It's hard to get a bad piece of meat in Argentina. The smoke and heat from the fire eventually scared the flies off so they were at least no longer sitting on the grilling meat, just hovering and buzzing nearby. Hundreds of them hung out on the hood of our car, where it sat warm in the autumn sun.

the bathroom

When nature called and it could no longer be ignored, I asked where the bathroom was. I was not surprised when they indicated the outhouse behind the tiny house. I took my toddler's hand and we headed back there, and continued walking right on past the outhouse, down the country lane. With all those flies outside, I felt a flicker of momentary missionary weakness and just didn't feel like braving the inside. Some days I opt out of roughing it. In this case, there was a more appealing second option. The Great Outdoors.

We found a few waist high desert bushes and squatted there. I am teaching my girls how to properly pee outside - something previously unknown to them. The prep and logistics are a learned skill, after all. So far they think it's funny and get a kick out of seeing me demonstrate. I have actual "after" pictures of me with my pants unzipped because I often forget to close my fly. Squatting and unzipped pants are the norm now. I have also relaxed to the point where I don't care too very much if a car zooming past several hundred yards away happens to see my bare white butt gleaming in the desert sun. Oh well, sorry, hope you enjoyed the view.

My kids got filthy today, as usual. Sometimes it bothers me, sometimes I handle it just fine. Today it bothered me. Sometimes I just get so tired of all the dirt. It's inside my house, it's outside, it gets dumped in the car, on the seats, and on the bathroom floor. It brings out the dirt inside of me, too. Because I HATE DIRT!



unzipped fly at potty break on field trip somewhere in the desert


Recently we went on a field trip (the one above. Dino museum and excavation in the middle of the desert - pretty neat). When I had my kids fill out a one page Field Trip Report because I'm such a slave-driving homeschooling mother, my daughter put this as the answer to one of the things she saw and learned about on the trip,

"Dirt and dirt and dirt and dirt."

Later, as I threw the kids' thoroughly soiled sneakers and clothes into my small washer, and as I washed the dirt and sand out of my socks and rinsed it off my battered and worn Mary Janes, I thought of Jesus.

He washed the dirty, dusty feet of His followers. He kneeled before them and washed filthy feet. Desert dust encrusted feet. He washed them.

And He said,

"Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. ¹⁵ I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you."

Sometimes I wonder if I do this - wash feet the way Jesus did. Wash them at all. As we drove home, I felt like the day had been a failure, mostly pointless. Like, what good did it do, us being there in this rural, dirty place full of really great, humble people? More humble than I am, for sure... What good did it do, me being there? In situations like today's, I am just babysitting - following my adventurous three year old around, keeping her from stepping on rusty nails, in dog poop, and playing with trash. Probably looking like an overly-preoccupied mother who just needs to sit down and let her kid wander around unsupervised like everyone else does. But I can't. I'm just not like them. I never will be. And it shows more than I like it to. It exhausts me, and I feel like I just take up space at times, helping no one, reaching no one, unable to finish conversations, and what's the point? Tony is able to sit at the table and talk, but I rarely sit in these situations. After several hours in places like this, I just want to leave.  

Oftentimes I find out later that it really was a good day. God did show up, in spite of my shortcomings (many) and my personal feelings on how the day went. This little church plant of new believers, very humble country folk, needs visitors. The pastor works mostly alone. He's doing a great job, but I'm sure he could use some help. He asked for it in a certain way. He actually told Tony that it would be great if he could come back and disciple the youth there. 

It's hard to say no to something like that, and I don't know that Tony will. He loved it there. I can't see him saying no. But we are getting to the point now that we have to actually pray for wisdom to know what to start saying no to. There is just so much to do here and so much that we are already doing, we have to begin to put on the brakes and really seek God as to where to focus. I can see us spreading ourselves very thin, then burning out.

Every little thing we do counts. In spite of fickle emotions that may fluctuate on any given day, the ups and downs of being here, the hard things, the dirt, I have to remember that in all labor there is profit. What I have to offer may not be much, and even on days like this when I may even feel that I don't do it well, that it's pointless, I have to remember that God is working out his purposes.

the church - an old, abandoned trailer



grilling behind the church building



inside the church - this is as big as it is



Isaiah 60:1

 

José and Daniela

 

their daughter Luzmila



“Arise, shine, for your light has come”   ~Isaiah 60:1

beautiful

living here

Living here is like living on an emotional, daily, roller coaster. One minute we are flying high because we see God is so in this, the very next we are thrown down deep into a pit because of something that has happened. Third World missions, especially when your focus is the unreached poor, is really tough stuff. Believe me.

Most days we know why we are here, and we believe in what we are doing. We know that it is GOD who has called us here, not we ourselves.

But other days we wonder out loud, "Lord, Why did you bring us here?!". To think that we could be living the good life in America - man!

I mean, seriously, I miss my dryer. I miss my dishwasher. I miss my big, comfy house and tranquil life. I miss my culture. Yeah, isn't that weird? My culture. The one that doesn't expect me to explain myself because it already understands me. I miss my family. It hurts me when my kids ask, "When are we going to see Mom-mom again?", and all I can say is, "Well, God knows when we'll be able to go back and see her."

We miss snow. Tony misses the organization and safety in the US. Me, too. It is not easy for us to live here. It is a sacrifice in every way. In every way.

Tonight we were talking at the table, a late dinner, 9 o'clock or so.


Bam!

Did you hear that?

Yeah, I heard somethin'.

Sounded like a gunshot.

Nah.... I don't know. I think it was a firecracker.

Hm (head cocked, listening).

Bam!

There it is again!

Firecracker.

Yeah. Firecracker.

Well... that's good, then.

(conversation resumes)


It's hard not being able to talk to anyone here about things we find to be strange or difficult. Sharing our difficulties with our native friends, we run the risk of offending them or making them feel as if we are criticizing their home country. So we don't, because we aren't. We like it here in many ways; it's just difficult on a lot of fronts.

Gunshots, or even the possibility of gunshots, are not normal for us.

And shouldn't be.

In a perfect world.

But, at the end of the day, it's the small things that make it worth it - living here: the people we are reaching. The ones who have never heard before. Yes, that makes it worth it. I don't worry about the nuances of the future - will they get saved, will there be anyone to disciple them, is there a church in their location they can attend. I really don't worry about that sort of thing. God is faithful. This is His Business. The details are for Him to work out. Mostly, I'm just trying to get through today.

I find it hard enough to be faithful today.

I know God is able to not only save Camila, but He is also able to send help her way. Maybe we're it, maybe we're not. I do know He promises to give us the wisdom to know what to do if we ask.

He sends us the Holy Spirit at salvation to teach us all things. He promises to send her a Comforter, too. I often remember getting saved at my kitchen table in downtown Buenos Aires, all alone. I was lucky if I got to church a half a dozen times that first year. And yet, here I am. God has kept me.

He will keep the work of His hands.

I have no doubt about that.

So no, I'm not worried about Camila. God's got His eye on her. She is a sweet, sincere little girl that has a genuine hunger for God. I consider it a privilege and a pleasure to sit and read with her, explaining and helping her to understand God's Word. Even if her little brothers are climbing all over piles of scrap wood, pulling down their pants to pee as the urge dictates, who chase my own son with scraps of wood nailed into makeshift play swords.

I'm not worried at all. Mostly I stand in awe that we are here at all and God would chose to use us at all.

Lord, you are Good.

"not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance." -2 Peter 3:9



Camila, and my favorite picture of all time

I think this is my all-time favorite picture taken in Patagonia. Ever.

"I want to read the Bible, but I can't understand it. I need someone to help me. Can you help me?" she said.

Camila is one of our little friends. She lives deep in the slums. She is nine years old. She lives in a wood slat house with a dirt floor. Her dad is a drug addict and former pai de santo. But she wants to read the Bible. She wants to learn about it, but doesn't know how to begin. So she asked Tony.

And you know you don't have to ask us twice.

:)

older boys' home

Tony took this picture last night on his visit to the children's home for older boys (13+) - a ministry he's started here recently.

(blurry on purpose, all the kids have cases in court)

Isn't that weird? A ministry he's started here.

But it's so easy to start ministries here. We have started several so far: a slums ministry, a movie ministry, a children's home ministry. It's really not that hard; so much easier than in the United States. You don't need a degree, seminary, or an FBI background check.

We have found that all you need is a desire to actually do something and the gumption to go ahead and just do it.

You don't have to be super spiritual or exceptionally talented. God uses ordinary people. Peter was a fisherman. The differentiating factor?  He was recognized to have been with Jesus.

Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were uneducated, common men, they were astonished. And they recognized that they had been with Jesus.

Acts 4:13

Not that I'm poo-pooing degrees, or seminary, or FBI checks. These are all good and helpful things. But they are not a requirement to do God's will or His work. God can't wait on possessors of these things in say poor, rural, mountainous Tibet. The Bible shows us time and again that Jesus doesn't need these things to use us. He used Peter and John, and Andrew his lowly fisherman brother, and many, many others - who were all just ordinary people.

Blue-collar Joes.

Tony and Facundo went last evening to the home together. Facundo is one of the youth from church who plays the drums.

We are enjoying working with the young adults from church. Some are not involved in any kind of outreach or ministry - they're just kind of there. Tony is working hard at encouraging them to get out there and we often invite them to various different things we have going on. It's so sweet to see their eagerness to do something for the Lord.

This was their second visit to the home. The boys were looking forward to their return, and asked them last time if and when they were coming back. Tony projected the John Bunyan Torchlighters movie onto the pale, green, smudged wall of the inside of the home. As usual, there was dead silence when the movie was over. The movies are powerful, and they have that effect on just about everyone - believers and non-believers alike.

Afterwards, they did a little reflection and discussion of the movie. They are slowly introducing the study of God's Word. The boys are very open and receptive and thankful for the notebooks Tony brought for each one. In them they write down their memory verses to study, questions, notes, and prayers. He is teaching them to pray, to think about eternal things, to open up about their lives, and pointing them to Hope, to the One who longs to rescue them from the pit. The church we attend also gave us eight small, pocket-sized Bibles for each one. After their visit of course they played a round of soccer. Because what's ministry and evangelism in South America without a game of soccer?

Truly, we can say, God is richly blessing us in all things. It is our one, main, sustaining grace, all this that we see the Lord doing. 

Some days we ourselves fall into a pit, despairing when we look at all the challenges and difficulty of our journey in the Way - but as Christian in The Pilgrim's Progress, we often find ourselves climbing the Hill Difficulty only to happen upon, midway to the top of the hill, a pleasant Arbour, made by the Lord of the Hill, for the refreshment of weary Travellers.

We continue to be so amazed at all the doors that have opened up for us here. Tony found this particular place walking home one day - back when we didn't have a car. He was walking down our dirt road and walked up along side an older man, also walking. And, of course, Tony can not not start talking to everyone he meets, so they struck up a conversation. Pedro loves to talk almost as much as Tony. Turns out Pedro worked for 20 years in homes for troubled youth. When Tony shared that that is something he would like to do as well, Pedro took Tony to this nearby home for troubled youth. Pedro now comes to our weekly Bible study, has from the first day we opened up our home. Pedro lives in a tiny, three-room house nearby. He has been a Christian his entire life, and we enjoy listening to his observations and the wealth of knowledge that only years of living and years of Bible reading can impart.



Pedro welding a wheelbarrow for us in his back yard



what is to become of those bricks

Marcela and Ceferino are rebuilding. This will be their new house.






I got to see on Saturday how it's coming along. The brick walls have now been raised as high as my hip.

Those bricks will come in handy as the night temperatures drop into 50s, soon into the 40s. [EDIT: Now 30s...]. Freezing. Right now they are sleeping in a temporary wood-slat house with only three walls and a tarp for a roof. Brrrrr.

"He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the LORD..." ~Proverbs 19:17



The Big 4-0!

^3-6 It is only when we obey God’s laws that we can be quite sure that we really know him. The man who claims to know God but does not obey his laws is not only a liar but lives in self-delusion. In practice, the more a man learns to obey God’s laws the more truly and fully does he express his love for him. Obedience is the test of whether we really live “in God” or not. The life of a man who professes to be living in God must bear the stamp of Christ. ~1 John 2:3-6 



Marcela's house





I recently became a member of the 40 Club. Officially Over the Hill. It should be easy from here on out, since it's all downhill from now on, right? I should rejoice that I'm still alive - and that I still fit into my jeans from High School (ha, don't hate). These are both miracles.

For my birthday weekend I wanted breakfast in bed, and to not wash a single dish or pick up a single toy. I'm really not that hard to please, really. I mean, really. How hard is that? You don't even have to spend money on me! I also wanted to go visit our friends in the slums, then visit our little friends in the children's home. Somewhere in between there my daughter and I tried to catch a meteor shower. We laid out under the stars in lawn chairs {in our winter jackets and scarves, boots, and gloves} well after midnight in search of shooting stars. It was partially cloudy, so we didn't see any of this spectacular meteor shower they had told us about. Tony came out for a bit and we searched the skies for the Southern Cross and the Three Mary's [aka Orion's Belt].

Good memories.

It was a birthday I will always remember. We spent most of it visiting: Saturday, the slums. Sunday, the children's home.

I don't like birthday parties. I just don't. Don't ask me why, I still haven't figured that out. I don't like going to them, I don't like throwing them, and I don't want one on my birthday. I prefer the quiet life, I guess - or to do something that is actually fun, instead of standing around small talking over cake. I'm not anti-social, just selectively social. B-day parties are not my gig... although I always get sucked into about a dozen a year or so.

So I managed to keep my birthday fairly secret, and off we went. I am often amazed how open people are to the gospel here. This weekend was no exception. When we arrived up in the slums, I sat in the car waiting for the okay to get out. We have a little thing we do: Tony pulls up, looks around, gets out, and says hi. He goes in, chats, and gets a feel for whether it is safe and whether we are welcome. As we pulled up Saturday, Cefe and his brother-in-law were just walking back to their shack. They were returning from buying beer. Tony talked with them for a bit, saw that they weren't drunk or on drugs at the moment, and then waved that it was okay to come in. We spilled out of the van, locked it, and went it.

It really is depressing how they live. It was chilly outside when we walked into their one room shack. The heat and claustrophobia hit me as I ducked in the place where the door should have been. It was so crowded with people and kids and animals that I couldn't even fully come inside. Tony said good thing I had a cold because it smelled like rotten food and animals. Little Sophia was sitting on the dirt floor in her filthy bare feet, her older brother Mishel was only in his underwear at the little table, Marcela and Cefe were there with her niece, her brother, and three or four of her kids, plus one nephew, several cats, and a dog. In a one-room shack. The wood stove was inches from the kids, blasting heat. Marcela says it get very cold at night when the stove burns out. I'm sure - it's getting down into the 30s right now at night. Brrrr...

Since I could barely stand in there, I went outside to watch the kids. Marcela's kids' bare feet are calloused over and they miraculously don't get cut up, but my kids, even with shoes, always seem to get hurt somehow. Marcela followed me out and we stood in her small, dirt front yard, just a patch of desert sand littered with trash and fruit peels and scrap metal and wood with nails sticking out of it. We talked. I really like Marcela, she is very friendly, warm,  and open with me. She began telling me how she can no longer take her brother and niece living with them, her husband's drug addiction, the kids home all day with her, or this emptiness in her heart. I told her it was normal to want to have some privacy, all families should have their own space. I shared how Tony and I used to have problems, big problems, in our marriage. She looked at me in disbelief with that, "Oh, not you" look. Oh, yes, me. I have a quite colorful past. There's a lot I don't tell people. Been there, done that. When she talks to Tony she thinks, "How does he do it? How is he okay all the time? Where does this peace come from that he seems to have?".

It's only God. That's all. That's the only difference.

I was able to share with her that that peace we have comes only from Jesus. We have just as many problems as they do, just different ones perhaps. I told her my story, I told her Tony's story. It was a blessed moment. A holy moment. God was there with us in the slums. Right there with us. She just looked at me. Like she understood. Like she wants that, too.

We talked for a while. She said she doesn't find purpose in life, no reason to get out of bed in the morning, she thinks of suicide often. No, don't do it, I said. Think of your kids. If Cefe has a drug problem, who would take care of them if she killed herself? I reminded her that Tony is more than willing to come up and help them finish raising the walls of their new house. Winter is coming. It's already very cold at night. Once the house is up, she could move into it with her own family, leaving the shack to her relatives. Think of how nice that would be! She's too depressed though it seems to find the motivation to raise the walls herself. I understand that. I probably would be too if I were her, living in that place, with no Hope. We left, telling her we are praying for her and will see her soon.

The next day, my birthday, we headed down to the children's home.




cakes!

 I don't like cake that much and I never want cake for my birthday, I even get somewhat annoyed if anyone wastes money on one I don't want to eat anyway (I know, such a party pooper. Tony says 'no fun'.). So I thought if we took my cake, the one I didn't want anyway but they always seem to buy no matter what, down to the kids' home, it would make the useless cake okay. Kids like cake. Our kids like cake. I like the children's home, but don't like cake. Problem solved.

We met some of the youth at church (they brought more cake), all piled into our van, and headed downtown. Played soccer, ate cake, talked to and hugged the kids. The kids all sang happy birthday to me. To me? I brought my cake for them, not for me. It was the sweetest. What a birthday present, these kids singing to me... it's so sad to think that their parents don't want them, or can't take care of them, or abused them. One of the girls ended up crying in a corner by herself. When we asked her what was wrong, she said she feels invisible. No one comes to visit her, no one loves her, she's so sad. It made me cry, too. My daughter came over and asked what was wrong. They know each other outside of the home - they both go to the same gym class (sports are free here in the city - one of God's many blessings). I explained to my daughter why her friend was crying, that she doesn't have a mom or dad that love her or take care of her. She looked at me like she didn't even understand that concept - no mom or dad, no love?? So, honey, Why don't you hug her and tell her you love her and you are her friend?

So she did. And we all cried some more.

Even though our time was up and we were supposed to leave, we continued talking to her, reminding her of God's promise, "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up." Psalm 27:10.

We shared the good news of God's love for her, and explained that although He does love her, God is gentleman. He wants to make her happy and to give her everything, but He will wait until she is ready, until she accepts what He wants to give her. We talked some more, and then she said she was ready. Keren prayed, she repeated. It was hard for her to get the words out, but she did it.


"...we are not to save souls, but to disciple them. Salvation and sanctification are the work of God’s sovereign grace" ~ Oswald Chambers

sunset on the way home from the children's home

 Whoever claims to live in him must live as Jesus did. -1 John 2:6 NIV

A blessed birthday weekend. In more ways than one.



Tony and I have talked a lot lately about how long we will be here. We have been going through a rough time. He always says don't worry, God will provide. I pray he is right, I pray for faith like his. We have talked about the possibility of having to return to the States because we can't afford to be here. We have accepted that as a possibility, but we hope it doesn't happen anytime soon. We are too busy. We are just getting started.

This week he went for the first time to a home for juvenile boys and showed the William Tyndale Torchlighters movie. {Sorry, they don't let you take pictures}. It was amazing and he was very well received. He'll be going back every other Tuesday night. With the gospel and Bible studies and love and hugs and more movies. To visit these kids that nobody wants in a place where no one is going right now. In talking to the director we have discovered that the kids are pretty bitter about the church. They say churches come once or twice to visit them and never come back. One boy's grandfather is a pastor. But, for whatever reason, they have left their grandson in a home for boys. Sometimes it doesn't matter what you say you are. It is what you do.


If you haven't seen the William Tyndale flick (it's only 30 minutes long) WATCH THE FULL MOVIE HERE! You won't regret it.


Some quotes from the movie I like...

"The Word of God is a light unto our path. It is for all the people to understand, and not for the church only.

I can not see how we can take it upon ourselves to withhold something that God has so freely

and intentionally given to us all?

By God's grace, I am as much a servant of the church, as the church serves God."

~ William Tyndale

more church building

sanding the walls

The church we attend here has outgrown it's old meeting place, so they have built a newer, bigger meeting place on the same lot. We started meeting there regularly just weeks ago. We've gathered bits and pieces of the story of how this church was planted 20 years ago, and we can see how it has grown. We have heard stories of how the pastor and his wife didn't have a bathroom in their first place when they came to the city. We have heard how they cooked and sold chicken to raise money to begin construction. We know how they have reached out to the community because we can see how they are doing that now.

Sometimes I wish our friends from back home could see what we see, experience it. One whole wall of the new church building is tin sheeting, the windows haven't been put in yet but are covered loosely with black burlap, there are pigeon droppings - many - that have cascaded down the wall from the constant roostings, there is neither heat nor air conditioning, the sound vibrates from the speakers so much that sometimes I don't understand a thing, and on Sunday mornings you have to look up once in a while to make sure a pigeon isn't roosted directly over your head. This past Sunday we had quite a few flying around - one swooped precariously close to the pastor's head. It doesn't bother me - it's a refreshing reminder that we don't gather together for our own comfort, or because the building is great, or because of the cushioned seating, surround sound, and climate control.

Anyway, church construction (men build buildings, but it is Christ who builds His Church Acts 2:47) is a whole new beast here. You build as you are able, when you are able, however you are able, and when the funds become available. Members pitch in with construction because this is the Third World: you can't always afford to hire a contractor out to do the work for you. That means Joe PewWarmer often gets up out of his plastic chair to pitch in.

This weekend, we went in to paint the new building. No actual painting ended up taking place... prepping the walls took all afternoon. We sanded all the walls by hand. Wax on, wax off. Wax on, wax off... lol

An electric sander would have been handy, but construction is mostly manual labor here, tools are often unavailable. My back and shoulders were in a serious big knot the next day.

Another group did some landscaping in the tiny atrium that connects the new building to the old one and the Christian school.

atrium before

atrium after

It is always encouraging to see the pastors, their wives, their whole family out there sanding, sweeping, throwing seed. An example to follow, it always blesses us so much.

Be ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ. ~1 Cor. 11:1

Join with others in following my example, brothers, and take note of those who live according to the pattern we gave you. ~Phil. 3:17

Good Friday

Good Friday showing of the Gospel of John {at church}...

We should have viewed it before we showed it. A wonderful, powerful movie, full of Scripture - but we had to put subtitles on and could only listen to it in English. Distracting. I felt even worse about that when someone told us later that there was a couple in the audience who can't read. And then, of course, the little kids that can't read ... argh. Learning. I think we were all still blessed, though.

Easter Eve moonrise

Good Friday sunset



living the dream

Living the Dream Part I

Saturday night my boyz showed the JESUS film and a few Torchlighters movies in the rough neighborhood next door (this one). I am so proud of them. We're actually doing what we set out to do. God has really brought it to pass. I feel like Francis Chan who said, upon leaving the States to pursue missions in the third world, "Living the dream!".

Setting up. The screen hung on a wire between two posts of a soccer goal.

 Tony with some of the neighborhood kids

 The boy in the camoflage shirt's dad is in prison for double homicide. It's that kind of neighborhood.

 watching a Torchlighters movie

the JESUS film

Some of the kids scoffed at the movies to be shown, saying they had better movies at home. Action movies, horror movies. Some threatened to go home and watch their movies which were "better". They were riveted, of course, watching the Torchlighters series. Everybody always is. They later didn't want to leave and asked when we were coming back to show more movies.

Living the Dream Part II

In other somewhat selfish news, I finally started zampoÑa [sahm-pohn-nyah] lessons. [My computer is being weird about ALT commands - they're not working for me here. The least of my problems.]. I finally made it to the weekly practice of a group of Christian guys that play Andean music. It was heaven. It was even more wonderful because my kids didn't come with me. Translation: it was relaxing. I almost felt young again: childless, able to finish adult conversations, glorious. If God is merciful, maybe I'll even learn to play.

Miguel teaching me how to play the zampoÑa

Living the Dream: The Flip Side

But, life isn't all rosey here. Not at all. There is another side (as another soldier on the forefront has noted) - "the inevitable spiritual attack that meets the coming of the Kingdom". It is ever present. We have had bad dreams, nightmares, all of us, since we've been here, often. Impatience, tension, pressures, trials, misunderstandings, criticism, fightings, tears.

But there is grace, the same grace that we all have access to through Christ. The same grace that upholds us who hope and believe in Him. Being here, fighting dirt, has brought all our dirt to the surface like nothing else. Missions is messy. Daily we come face to face with our failings, our weakness, our filth. It's ugly. The only thing that separates us from those we are trying to reach is forgiveness, nothing else. Because of Christ, we are forgiven. Because of the forgiveness he has extended to us, we are able to extend forgiveness, be forgiven. So we forgive, we kiss and make up and hug and talk, and we move on, praying we get it someday. Sometimes limping, sometimes swiftly and with strength, daily reminded that we are not qualified for this. For any of this.

Which is exactly why we are qualified for this.